Control
by PeanutNinja
Summary: Some days Reid likes to pretend he's still in control. Most days it's easier to inject false happiness than find real closure.


"_I'm in too deep, And the wheel's keep spinning round, Everyone says I'm getting down too low, Everyone says "You just gotta let it go_" I Need Some Sleep - Eels.

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><p><strong>Control<strong>

It's the first time in a long time that he's noticed how cold he is. He stares at the tired, gaunt stranger before him in the beaten full length mirror, and he can't say he really likes the person that much. Sometimes he screams at him, yells at the man who can't really be called a man. Other times, he watches him with contempt, looks every now and then to the puncture wounds on his arms. He doesn't think he could hate someone as much as he did his father …or Charles… yet the boy genius is being proved oh so wrong. He doesn't know if he likes being capable of this hate.

He ghosts through the winter streets, his old professor style suit jacket the only thing to shield himself from the cold. He finds in the haze of a high he doesn't really mind, doesn't really care. The colours weave into one another, sometimes people he thinks he once knew try to approach him. Reid doesn't act the way they're used to, a quick nod, the odd word here and there before he stumbles past them, their faces blur round the edges, the words are lost as soon as they're spoken. He just has to keep walking and perhaps he'll leave the mess he's found himself in. Walking, faster, faster, running. It doesn't work, and he always finds himself returning to his apartment, night after night, staring through those worn out mirrors.

His family… his friends… the team… they notice a change from afar, he knows they're giving him privacy, and he doesn't know whether to resent or appreciate it. He snaps at them all the time, every time secretly hoping they notice the helpless, pathetic pleading in his eyes. He knows he needs help this time, he can't do this on his own. He stands in a snow filled street, viewing a park covered in a cold, pure white blanket. Hatred fills him, anger at himself, at the team, at anyone he can justify it towards, and even those who he can't like his mother. At the end of it all he knows it's down to tiredness, when the high fades, which it always does, and the anger leaves all that's left is that empty, jaded feeling. A longing of times past.

He strides across the snow, disrupting the perfect blanket with his flaws. He finds a spot, alone from everyone, and doesn't care that's it's in the dark. Without thinking he lies in the snow, strung up as high as Christmas fairy lights and hoping, this time, he can reach a form of absolution, everything will dissolve and fade, and the world will right itself again.

Or perhaps he'll freeze to death whilst lost in an opiate void.

Both seem appealing.

For a genius he only knows one thing: he doesn't want to wake up in this mess. He has a brief thought that someone will find him here, one of the team. They'll take him home and support him, and in their goodness perhaps he can reach a skewed form of okay. As the snow melts with his diminishing body heat he knows he's being delirious.

He tries to get up when the snow gets too heavy, his back is soaking, his small frame is shaking violently and he sees that no one is going to come and help him. He doesn't think he can do this on his own. He glances at the city lights in the distance, maybe he's been too far out this whole time. When at home he stares at his reflection for hours. Once he's smashed all the mirrors in his apartment, devoid of pain, he bandages his wrecked hands and lies on his bed in a stupor, the pain returning quickly. Worried glances are deflected by a shield of numbess, sickness and flying. Two weeks of unspoken concerns later they go to New Orleans. Ethan tells him how obvious he's being, Gideon speaks to him and he wonders if maybe he's closer to spring. That night he gets high again, sinks deeper into winter, and the next morning tries to act like he's in control, like everything's alright.

When really things haven't been alright in a long time.

It's Gideon that finds him half dead in the snow and wanting oh so much just to let the cool flakes blanket him. He wants to be in suspended animation, while life moves on, he wants to watch in an ice coffin of indecision. He really doesn't know what he wants. Reid knows that Gideon's watched him become colder, number, watched those midday trips to the bathroom, coming back with his eyes full of shooting stars and synthetic comfort. A part of him wants Gideon to help him up, for him to put his arm around him and get his numbing body out before it's too late. Before he's just another cadaverous zombie, a body stuck in limbo while his mind is exploding with chemicals… a beaten up nobody always so lost in the cold.

He thinks, at first, that Gideon helped him up and led him so far. So when Spencer still finds himself lying in the snow with his mentor walking away to forge another path, the snow seems so much more welcome. All he's asking is to forget, for once, and perhaps it's worth the price of hating himself.

But his departure strikes a chord with Reid, part of him - a growing part - doesn't want to be destroyed. It wants him to pick himself up and walk back to whatever normal is, write to his mother and act halfway civilised. As it calls him more frequently, the snow is less inviting, he feels cold and alone, tired. Always so tired tired tired. He glances at the lights of the city. He knows where he wants to be. Some days he fears he's too late.

At first he just sits up. Surprised he can lift the lid of his ice coffin so easily. He is completely numb. A little dead boy. After awhile he finds his feet, he's so frozen he almost lies down again, knowing full well he won't get up back up if he does. He limps towards warmth and real comfort. Some steps are harder to navigate than others.

His body warms slowly. He walks through the streets, meeting the familiar faces and stopping to talk, he makes plans with them and when they're no longer there he remembers them. He eventually makes his way back to his home, back to reality. A skewed but less jaded form of okay. It's late at night when he stares at himself, new mirrors to replace the old, they're more alert, show him more aware. They approve of him.

It's the first time, in a long time, that he's noticed how warm he is.

He smiles in his flat as it heats up day by day, he hasn't been stuck in winter for nearly ten months. His smile grows.

Spring is here.

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><p><strong>This was an idea that had been circling my head for awhile, it was mainly inspired by Enemy by Flyleaf and I Need Some Sleep by Eels. I know I could have done with some dialogue somewhere but I couldn't find a place to fit any in. I hope the grammar and spelling are okay and I hope it makes sense. If you have any questions just message me :). Hope you enjoyed it, please read and review and I will toast my marshmallows and bake muffins on any flames :D.<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds :(.**


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